Tide (30 page)

How long will it be, before I’m strong enough to strike again? Because if I don’t kill Sarah Midnight, it’ll be the end of us all.

Ceilings heavy with memories

Walls thick with years

Never silent, always whispering

The births and deaths of generations gone.

Listen when I beg the old house

Let your children go

Sean

This house is poisoned, if you ask me. I know Sarah has been fantasizing about living here, but it is so full of sorrow, so full of ghosts. If it was me, I’d knock it down and let nothing but weeds grow on its foundations. I’m still reeling from Sarah’s revelations about her aunt’s murder. The Midnights are even worse than Harry let on. I wonder if he knew – his father certainly did.

It’s Christmas Eve. Sarah is in the kitchen now, cooking away. In a crisis, Sarah cooks – that’s what she does. We decided to stay on Islay for a little while longer.

“What would be the point of going?” Sarah had said. “Wherever we go, the Surari will follow us. We might as well face them.”

I looked to Elodie, who, unexpectedly, echoed Sarah’s words. “No more running away,” she whispered as she turned away from me.

Ever since our kiss on the beach, there has been an awkwardness between Elodie and me. I can’t help thinking that she’s not really longing for me, but for Harry’s ghost, Harry’s memory. When I catch her looking at me I am afraid, because I can never feel that way for her. She doesn’t deserve any more heartache after all she’s been through. I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t help being in love with Sarah.

There, I said it. It was no secret, after all. I’m in love with Sarah, and that’s never going to change.

I can feel this house humming, vibrating with what’s to come. We’re all jumpy, nerves taut under the skin, waiting. The Midnight ghosts are all around us, and sometimes I think they’re closing in on us; and so, we have to presume, are the Surari. Any time now, they will strike.

So here the rest of us are, counting the hours trickling slowly one after the other, with Sarah sorting cutlery and polishing silver obsessively. As Niall whispered to me, while we prepared the vegetables exactly the way Sarah instructed us, we are like the orchestra on the Titanic, playing on as the ship is about to sink.

Sarah brushes past me on some errand, running upstairs. The light of the multi-coloured window plays in her hair, and the hand she leans on the banister is raw and bleeding.

A mother’s call

To keep you safe in times to come

Sarah knelt in front of the fire in her bedroom again, as if in front of an altar, and the box of letters clutched to her chest was the sacrificial offering.

The wood flamed wildly in the grate. This was the second time in her life she was burning something her family had inflicted on her. First her dream diary, the black-bound book where she had recorded her first four years of dreaming, and now her grandmother’s letters.

One by one they went into the fire to be engulfed in flames. And then it was the turn of the loose pieces of paper scattered in the bottom of the box. She was determined that there would be nothing left. Sarah started scrunching them up and placing them into the fire too, but before she completed the task, one of them caught her eye.

Amelia,

I have to ask you to stop writing. You disgust me. I will do nothing to help you. You are one of those irresponsible, foolish people who one day will cause the demise of the Secret Families. To think I’ve defended you over and over again. To think I’ve taken your side over Angus, and all along you were having a relationship with a Lay. All your powers will go to waste. You won’t be able to pass them on to your children, the little bastards you’ll have with that Lay. You knew what you were doing. We all know that we female heirs can only ever marry Secret men or our children will be worthless Lays. You knew that. And still, you did it, you deceived your fiancé, which was bad enough – and me, believing it had been him who did you wrong! And you betrayed him with a disgusting little Lay. A servant, moreover.

Amelia, you’re dead to me. Never, never look to me again for friendship. I hope you, your Lay and the bastard you’ve had with him burn with the Surari.

Morag Elspeth McGregor Midnight

Midnight Hall

Sarah trembled in anger. It was just as Winter had said. So much cruelty, so much grief inflicted on everyone around Morag. The irony of all ironies: her grandmother passing judgement on Amelia for having fallen in love with a Lay when she herself had committed the unforgivable crime of murder. Murder of her own daughter.

She checked through the rest of the papers in the box, wondering why Morag had the letters she had sent to Amelia. She could only find one explanation: her uncle Stewart. He must have received the letters from Amelia and then given them to Winter’s mother after Morag’s death, knowing that she would keep them safe. Mrs Shaw would never have dreamt of taking anything from the house. Her job was much too important to take a risk like that.

Stewart Midnight. I wish I’d known you.

Other memories flooded back. Sarah thought of her dad, James, of how inflexible, how hard he could be. How her mum would never disagree with him, how Bryony and her other friends had always been a little scared of him.
James is the one who takes after me the most
, Morag had written.

I wonder if I take after her. Am I like my father?
How quick, how merciless she’d been in sending Sean away when she’d found out about his deceit. She closed her eyes, remembering how close she had come to using the Blackwater on him. And the rage she’d been feeling inside for so long, the desire to burn and kill and destroy. Especially since Leigh had been murdered.
Does that make me like them?

Sarah was shaking with the strength of her emotions. Unshed tears were prickling behind her eyes, but she knew they couldn’t find release.

There was no time. She and her friends would have their Christmas, their bizarre celebration, holding the future at bay a little longer. And then eventually she would pack, and leave. She would do what she was meant to do, and not look back.

She grabbed the rest of the papers with both hands and went to thrust them into the fire. But something colourful among the scraps of paper caught her eye. It was a stamp. A New Zealand stamp, on a scrunched-up blue envelope. Something – a feeling, a hunch – made her place it on the rug and smooth it out.

There was a name on it, written in faded blue ink: Stewart Midnight.

Sarah took a deep breath.
More discoveries?

She shook her head, and crinkled the letter again.
I can’t take this anymore. It’s too much.
She raised her hand to throw it into the fireplace.

And then she stopped.
It’s to Stewart, though, not Amelia. Winter said she trusted him. This letter might be different than the others.

On impulse, she took the letter out of the envelope, smoothed it the best she could, and read. And her life once again changed forever.

Dear Stewart,

I’m begging you to help me. Your mother won’t have anything to do with me, and I don’t know what to do. Allan died last year, and I’m very ill. Our son, Sean, is going to be raised by Allan’s parents, whose hatred for me is only matched by the indifference they feel for Sean. For the long friendship between our Families, the friendship that your mother wants to end because of what I did, I’m begging you to find Sean one day, and help him to become a Gamekeeper. I never want him to know that he’s half-Lay, half-Secret – I can’t bear to inflict this shame on him, and to have him exiled, stigmatized, tormented as I was, as his father was. I want his life to be happy and without shadows. I want him to be proud of himself in a way I couldn’t be, having betrayed my family. Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it all again for love of Allan. I’d do it again a million times over.

Please find Sean for me one day. He is my precious son, and I know that he can play his part in our battles. Make sure he’s alright, make sure he finds his place in the world. And never, never tell him of my shame.

You’re my only hope.

Yours,

Amelia Campbell Hannay.

“Oh, God.”

“What’s up? All OK?” Hearing her curse, Niall had poked his head in from the hall. Sarah shook her head, putting a hand up to silence him. She read the letter again, and once more.

Sean. Amelia’s son. In New Zealand.

Sean’s parents died when he was a child. He was raised by his grandparents.

Allan Hannay’s son.

Sean Hannay.

“Sarah?”

“Yes. Yes.” She took a deep breath and clutched the letter to her chest. “I’ve found a very special letter, Niall.”

“And important it looks too,” he mocked half-heartedly, sensing her mood.

Sarah nodded. “Yes. Very important. Have you seen Sean?” she added in a trembling voice.

“I think he’s in the kitchen.”

Sarah looked at him, wide-eyed. “I can’t explain now. I’ll tell you later,” she whispered, and ran off.

Sean was lost in thought, looking out of the kitchen window into the lilac sky, nursing a cup of steaming coffee. He smiled when Sarah came to stand beside him, but his smile faded when he saw her serious expression.

“Sean,” she said. “I need to speak to you.”

There’s more than one way to forget

Whether it’s you or myself that I hurt

Every drop of blood

Is a memory gone

“Nicholas,” whispered Elodie. They watched as Sean and Sarah emerged from the kitchen and stood together at the edge of the garden, where the grass ended and the sand began, out on their own to speak in private. The bond between Sean and Sarah, the pull between them, was so strong that it was nearly visible, a silver chain tying them together. Elodie and Nicholas watched as Sean stepped back and put his head in his hands, and Sarah reached out to him.

When Sean and Sarah were finally in each other’s arms, Elodie grew pale, and at first Nicholas didn’t show any visible emotion. He stood still and silent, looking on as if it didn’t matter. But inside him it was like old times, like the Nicholas he used to be. He had an irresistible urge to destroy something, anything. To kill and maim, to inflict on someone else the pain he was feeling. Suddenly he raised his hand, and the ravens were with him once more. At once, there was a symphony of whispers in his head – calls, and greetings, and congratulations. The speed of the reaction stunned him.
Nicholas is back
, they said.

Startled, Elodie watched the ravens circle above their heads with dark, liquid eyes. Then she turned to him, as if something fundamental had changed in her life too. “Do this for me,” she said, and rolled up her sleeve, exposing her white, delicate arm. “Ask the ravens to help me forget.”

Nicholas stared at her. What was she thinking? “I don’t understand,” he whispered.
I don’t want to understand
.

Her arm was tiny, her skin was too thin, and still there were no veins to be seen, as if she’d been bled already.
Her blood isn’t flowing properly
, thought Nicholas. Once more, he had seen something in Elodie’s eyes that he wished wasn’t there.

“Ask them to hurt me, to make me forget.”

Nicholas was horrified. “Don’t ask me to do that, Elodie.”

“Why? It wouldn’t be the first time you make your ravens hurt someone.”

Nicholas continued to stare at her.
What does she know? What has she guessed?
“Demons. Not Secret heirs.”

“I’m not asking you to kill me. Just help me take the pain away,” she pleaded, fixing her eyes on his. Her look reminded Nicholas of someone. Someone spent, tired of living.

Then he remembered. His mother.

At that moment, the fury he’d felt watching Sarah and Sean holding each other faded as quickly as it had come. If he hated anyone, it was himself. He closed his eyes. What was happening to him? His thoughts whirled, rearranging themselves in his head, contradicting each other, making no sense. He wouldn’t kill anymore, he wouldn’t hurt again. He needed to get away.

“They can see us,” he whispered, and led Elodie round the side of the house, across a little dirt road and up onto a grassy mound. They stood overlooking the ocean, screaming seagulls in the grey sky above.

“What happened to you, Elodie?” he asked, taking her by the shoulders.

“Harry died,” she answered simply.

She’s as soft, as white as a dove – but she’s black inside, I can feel it. Too much pain, too much anger.

“Sean won’t bring him back. Look, Elodie. Don’t go trying to get hurt, because believe me, we’ll all get hurt soon enough.”

“I don’t really care if I live or die. I want to do what Harry asked of me. Of us. I want to destroy the Enemy.” The chorus of screams and whispers in Nicholas’s head got louder all of a sudden. “And then I won’t have anything left to live for.” She gave him a bleak smile.

The ravens had caught them up. They had chased away the seagulls and were flying in circles over their heads, cawing. A few of them landed and hopped beside them, their little heads tipping from left to right, awaiting instructions. Nicholas felt his fingertips tingle. Suddenly, he knew exactly what was about to happen.

Let us taste her.

“Let’s go back. Now.” He took Elodie by the arm and began pulling her down the path. The terrible chorus in his head kept calling.
Let us finish what we started on the beach. Let us taste her. Let us.